Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [58]
And in the morning, when Sidonie awoke and smiled at me, her face soft with sleep and memories of the night's pleasure, hair tousled and the creased impress of her pillow on one cheek, I knew I was wrong.
A year was a very, very long time.
Chapter Twelve
The red sails of the Cruarch's flagship were sighted early that spring.
Almost every other year of my life, I'd heard the news with gladness. In the Sanctuary where I grew up, it meant there would be a feast that night with toasts to Drustan's health. In the City of Elua, it meant Phèdre's household would soon depart for Montrève. I'd dreaded it the year Eamonn fostered with us, for it meant he would be leaving, but I'd awaited it in a fever of anticipation the next year, for it meant I'd be free to follow him to Tiberium.
This year, it was like a death-knell.
Worst of all, I was attending a state dinner in honor of Diokles Agallon, the Ephesian ambassador. A full Parliament had convened, and although the Sultan's suit offering alliance through marriage had been declined by House Courcel, Agallon would be returning to Ephesium having secured the trade concessions he sought.
All I cared about was that it meant Sidonie was there.
The hall burst into cheers when the messenger interrupted with the tidings. Sidonie and I exchanged a single stricken glance across the table. We'd hoped for at least another week. I watched the blood drain from her face, watched her square her slender shoulders and begin explaining to Agallon the long-standing tradition of granting a gold ducat to the first person to spot her father's sails.
And then I looked away, because Diokles Agallon was trained in the arts of covertcy, and I didn't want him reading my face.
The next day, I had my final session with the ollamh. Having stuffed our heads full with as much Cruithne lore as they could hold, Firdha actually seemed somewhat proud of Alais and me.
"Do not fail to recite your lessons," she said sternly, her tone belied by a hint of a twinkle in her eye. "A memory that is not exercised grows frail. Do this, and you may bring pride to Alba.”
Alais was fairly bouncing with eagerness and wanted to talk afterward. I listened to her burble, struggling to rein in my impatience. All I wanted to do was find Amarante and see if she had any message for me.
"Oh, Imri!" Alais clapped her hands together. "Aren't you excited?”
I smiled ruefully. "I'm pleased, love. Remember, I don't know Dorelei well.”
"I wish you hadn't gone away to Tiberium last year," she said. "You'd know her a good deal better if you'd stayed for the summer. You liked her, though, didn't you? I liked her. Dorelei's not nearly so serious as Talorcan can be.”
"I liked her, yes," I said.
"She has the best laugh," Alais reflected, and I winced. My young cousin gave me a sharp-eyed look. "Did you like her as well as you like Amarante?”
"Amarante!" I laughed. "Why do you ask?”
"I'm not stupid, Imri.”
"No, you're not," I agreed. "I don't know her as well, that's all. Anyway, I thought you liked Amarante, too.”
"I do, only I don't see Sidonie as much since she came to Court. They're always whispering about something. And now you've been acting awfully odd." She shrugged. "I know what people say, but I don't always believe it, you know.”
"Nor should you," I said, ruffling her hair. "You're wise beyond your years.”
"Don't do that!" Alais jerked her head away from my touch and scowled. "Imri, if I asked you something, would you tell me the truth?”
I felt bad for ruining her happiness and opened my mouth to make an apologetic promise, but somewhat in her expression, at once wary and determined, stopped me. Alais was clever and observant, and she saw a good deal that others didn't. Young or no, she knew me better than almost anyone at Court; and she knew her sister, too.
"I've never lied to you, Alais," I said, picking my words with care. "And I don't mean to start. So if you don't think you'd like the answer,